


Take The Pain Away

by el3anorrigby



Series: A Growing Addiction [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Caring Illya, Hurt Napoleon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4992193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as Illya wants to avoid Napoleon, he learns his intentions are ruined when they’re thrust into a mission almost immediately after that awkward moment in Napoleon’s room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take The Pain Away

As much as Illya wants to avoid Napoleon, he learns his intentions are ruined when they’re thrust into a mission almost immediately after that awkward moment in Napoleon’s room. And there are no lull moments, no appropriate time for Napoleon to confront Illya either and now they are stuck in Naples in a mission that’s gone awry from the start. Next thing he knows, he’s running down a dark corridor with Illya, trying to escape their assailants. Illya’s in front of him, his longer strides ensuring his lead over Napoleon. 

“Move it, Solo!” Illya exclaims, urging the American to hurry. Then, suddenly, he hears a couple of shots being fired. Instinctively he drops his body and rolls on the floor for cover. Before he could recover, he’s yanked up hard by the collar. 

“Come on, Peril! No time to mess about!” Napoleon shouts. Illya grabs hold of his arm, staggers to his feet and they both run as fast as they could through their escape route. The only thing they need to do now is make it out of the warehouse where Gaby is standing by in their escape car. In the chaos, Illya suddenly hears Napoleon’s yell. There is a burst of gunfire but it misses him, hits the walls instead. He ducks, turns and fires a few response shots at their assailants. In the event, he stumbles to the ground. He fires again, hears muffled groans and then there is silence. The only thing he could hear after that is his own ragged breathing. Seconds later, Illya gets up on his knees. He’s dazed because everything had happened so fast. 

“Cowboy?”

There is no answer. He blinks his eyes a couple of times to refocus. And then he sees it. A few yards behind him, there are three bodies down on the hard floor. One of them is Napoleon, flat on his back, unmoving. His heart sinks. 

_“No! No, Cowboy.”_

He quickly crawls to Napoleon. He touches his quivering fingers on his neck. He finds a pulse and his body sags in relief. He doesn’t even care to check the other two bodies that are lying in a massive pool of blood beside the American.

“Napoleon?” he asks, hoping to get a reaction, any kind of reaction from his partner. Illya sees he’d been shot at his left arm and clavicle. It seems like no major organs had been hit but Napoleon's unresponsiveness is worrying. Blood loss is Illya's main concern.

“Please, Cowboy, if you can hear me,” he pleads, tries his best to hide the terror that’s threatening to overcome his heart. He cradles Napoleon’s body, taps his face gently and then, finally, a low moan comes out of Napoleon. His eyes move beneath the lids and then slowly he opens his eyes.

“Damn, your fingers are c-cold, Peril.” 

"Sorry for that," Illya says, tries not to sound annoyed when in truth he's glad Napoleon's talking. But when blood starts to dribble out of his mouth, Illya panics once more. He knows time isn’t his best friend at the moment but he needs to be gentle with his partner. He fears any sudden movement might cause more damage than what’s already been done. He rips Napoleon’s shirt and tries to staunch his wounds, to stifle his shock. When he presses on his wound, Napoleon lets out a cry of pain.

"That hurts," he hisses. 

“Sorry, Cowboy,” Illya says softly. The cloth soaks through with red and Illya knows they can't stay there any longer. “Solo, we’ve to move. I’m going to take us out of here, okay? Gaby’s waiting for us.”

Napoleon gives Illya a weak nod, murmurs, “I can do this.”

It gives Illya temporary relief to hear Napoleon say that. As he slowly manoeuvres Napoleon to his feet, he sees Napoleon grimacing, shutting his eyes. 

“Hold on,” Illya says to him. “Not a long way to go and you’ll be fine.” 

Illya secretly knows those encouraging words are more for his sake than Napoleon’s. 

A few minutes after that, they manage to stagger out into the night air where Gaby is waiting patiently for them. Her eyes grew wide with shock when she sees Illya holding onto a bloodied Napoleon. “Oh god, Solo,” she whispers. “What happened?”

“No time to talk, we need to get him to hospital quick,” Illya commands and she nods before saying, “Get him in.”

The Aston Martin roars to life once Illya had closed the rear door and carefully lowered Napoleon into the back seat, leaning him against his chest. “Hurry up, Gaby,” Illya says. He doesn’t even make an effort to hide the fear in his voice and Gaby knows she has to drive faster than she’d ever driven before. 

Not long after, Illya notices Napoleon had shut his eyes. “Cowboy! Wake up!” he barks. The American hears Illya’s voice and his eyes flew open. 

“Keep your eyes open, yes? We keep talking. You talk to me.”

Gaby is already driving on the main road like a mad woman. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Nearest is the Naples military hospital.”

Illya doesn’t say anything. He hears and trusts her judgment. His main concern at the moment is to keep his focus on Napoleon. His eyes are still open but his head is lolling against Illya’s shoulder. He steadies him with his right hand, his other arm firmly holds Napoleon secure around his body. His hands and shirt are smeared with Napoleon’s blood. 

“God, this is painful, Peril,” Napoleon groans. His eyes are on the Russian. 

“A few more minutes and we’ll get morphine for you. Hold on, Cowboy.”

“Will it make the pain go away?”

Throwing caution to the wind, he kisses Napoleon’s temple, keeps his lips pressed there, not breaking contact. He murmurs against his skin, “It will, trust me.”

“I hope so. Because I feel like dying right now.”

Illya groans, his heart almost stopping at the thought. “No, you’re not going to die. I won’t allow it,” he says in a shaky voice. No, he’s not going to lose Napoleon tonight. He tightens his grip around Napoleon’s body as Gaby speeds through the night. The city lights indicate they are nearing their destination.

“I feel tired,” Napoleon murmurs against Illya’s chest. “Can I sleep?” His eyes flutters close but Illya shakes his body, tries his best to keep him awake. “Cowboy, we’re almost there.”

“But I’m so tired, Peril.”

“Open your eyes,” Illya commands and Napoleon does as he’s told but it’s clear the effort to do that is becoming harder with every passing second. His eyelids droop. 

“Gaby? How long?” Illya’s asks as panic has taken completely over him. His body trembles when he sees Napoleon’s shut eyes. “Hold on, Napoleon!”

“We’re here!” Gaby shouts from the front as the car comes to a grinding halt. 

 

***

 

When Napoleon finally comes to, he feels a little disoriented. For a moment, he thinks he’s in Rudi’s torture chamber, strapped up, helpless and unable to move. He grimaces and gasps. Then he feels a hand on his shoulder, hears a soft voice calling him. 

“Solo?”

He slowly opens his eyes to see Gaby by his side, her hand holding his. He blinks and realises he’s on a hospital bed. His throat feels dry. Gaby, as if reading his mind, offers him a glass of water and Napoleon gladly takes a few sips. She places the glass back at the side table and returns her attention on him. Napoleon notices her red eyes. It’s obvious she’d been crying.

“I’m not dead, am I?” he croaks and Gaby can’t help but give out a small laugh. She squeezes his hand tight. 

“No but you scared the shit out of us.”

Napoleon closes his eyes again but there’s a small grin playing on his lips. “I’m sorry, hard habit to break I guess.”

“Why did you never tell me, Solo? Why?”

Napoleon blinks at Gaby’s question. He looks at her, his eyes questioning. “You’ve lost me there, Gaby. I-I don’t understand? What?”

“You never told me what Rudi did to you.”

Napoleon gets it now. And then he realises the person who’d let slip that piece of information is missing from the room. “Where’s Illya?”

“He’s out there, in the waiting room,” Gaby explains. One look at Napoleon and she realises this isn’t the best time for her to talk about Rudi. She understands it when Napoleon only looks expectantly at the door instead. 

“You want Illya. I’ll call him in,” she says. Napoleon doesn’t protest.

When Illya enters a few minutes later, Napoleon’s eyes light up at seeing his partner. “Hey, Peril.”

“You finally decide to wake up,” Illya says, his tone serious, his accent thick but there’s a hint of relief that’s unmistakable. 

“You saved me again,” Napoleon says. “Thank you.”

“Now you owe me one, Cowboy.”

Napoleon lets out a chuckle at Illya’s sentence. “And the beautiful cycle repeats.”

Illya’s right by his bedside now. Napoleon searches his face and regards him carefully. He feels like there’s something he’s been meaning to say to him but Napoleon can’t find the right words for it. He supposes the drugs administered in his system is making him a little light headed because suddenly he’s seeing Illya in a different light.

“Did you kiss me while we’re in the car?”

Illya’s face immediately turns red. He cannot believe Napoleon remembers that small detail. Of all the things he could say, he just had to bring that matter up. Illya swears inwardly. He tries to avert Napoleon’s gaze but when he continues to look at Illya with expectant eyes, it breaks Illya’s defences. He falters at that sight.

“I was only trying to keep you awake,” Illya mumbles. His answer brings a smile to Napoleon’s face. Even at his state, he just loves to wind the Russian up. He wonders what he would do without him. 

“You know when I get out of this hospital there are a few things we need to talk about,” Napoleon blurts.

Hearing that, Illya’s insides twists and his heart starts to thud painfully against his chest. His hands starts to shake and he crosses his arms as he tries to still them. He thinks he knows what Napoleon’s getting at, but he’s hoping he’s wrong.

“What things?” he asks softly. 

“Well, for one, you told Gaby about what Rudi did. You’d promised me not to tell her.”

Illya sighs. He’s glad Napoleon’s not talking about the one thing he’s trying to hide from him. On the other hand, now he has to explain why he’d told Gaby about Rudi. There is a perfect reason why he had broken his promise. He has to let Napoleon know.

“Cowboy, you suffered from a panic attack while we were trying to get out. I had to explain to Gaby what happened. I’m not going to let her or anyone blame you for what had happened, without them knowing the truth.”

Napoleon looks startled at Illya’s admission. He slowly recalls the mission and suddenly remembers what had happened. Illya's right. He'd had another episode of his anxiety and panic attacks again and this time it had almost cost him, almost endangered Illya's life as well. He closes his eyes and groans in frustration, covers his face in his hands.

“Cowboy?” Illya worries the moment he sees Napoleon’s pained expression. 

“God, Illya,” he groans. “I don’t know how to get over this. This thing I’m having…it’s compromising our missions. I can’t…”

At that very moment, something quite extraordinary, something unexplainable takes over Illya. Pushing his fears aside, he takes Napoleon’s hands that’s covering his face and grips it hard in his. He’s determined to help him get through his pain no matter what it takes. 

“Let me help you make it better, Cowboy,” Illya assures Napoleon. “I will help you.”

Napoleon looks at him with confused eyes. “But how, Peril? How on earth can you help me get through this?”

For the second time since he'd come to terms with his feelings for Napoleon, Illya is going to take his chance. He's going to risk it. He doesn’t say a word, slowly leans down, and kisses Napoleon on the lips.

**Author's Note:**

> This continuation is slightly longer than the previous entries. And it wasn't my intention to make this serious continuous like this. It just happened. Hope you enjoy it and thanks again for reading. :)


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